


Board Game

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Should Never Have Existed [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, Tevinter Inquisitor, culture clash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: A visiting Orlesian noblewoman, who cannot resist a board game, plays one 'with the little idols from Tevinter' (as Josephine describes it) with a Herald of Andraste who is actually a former Tevinter magister - and not just any magister, as the greater fic series reveals! - and tends to feel rather homesick sometimes. Not to mention frustrated that he needs to hide his origins under the guise of a 'Trevelyan from Ostwick'.





	Board Game

He moves the carved, toothy figurine across the board, bringing it down occasionally with a soft wooden tap, while the pieces that he has already taken out remain clasped in the same hand, held in place by the curve of his slightly outstretched little finger. The noblewoman watches the figurine’s elaborate zigzags with a stunned expression, and in the silence of the Ambassador’s little corner, one can almost hear the gears rotate, scraping and sighing, in her mind, as she takes in how differently the Herald plays this game.  
  
Immersed as both of them are, they do not notice how, behind the Herald’s back, Ambassador Montilyet  has begun to turn pale - and how the Seeker, who is also watching, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed on her chest, grows increasingly tenser.  
  
The burning anxiousness that emanates from the two advisors becomes dense and tangible, like a stream of molten metal, when the game comes to a close and the Herald leans back, his hands now free of the figurines and steepled together with a subtle air of smugness, and announces,  
  
‘Now, these are the rules commonly used when playing this in Tevinter. I do understand, of course, that customs change as they migrate from culture to culture, but perhaps you found my little demonstration of the game’s roots to be educational. It is also not quite correct to refer to the pieces as “idols”; while they are based on characters from early Tevene mythology, they…’  
  
The noblewoman blinks.  
  
The Ambassador clears her throat. A small, innocent noise that nevertheless has the effect of a fireball exploding in the Herald’s face - which has now reached its turn to drain of all colour save for a lumpy, pasty grey.  
  
The Herald’s back grows rigid, and his hands slip down onto the tabletop, fingers gripping at the edge. His previous sentence dwindles off into nothing, faint and unfinished, and after a brief pause, he begins again, voice stretched thin with  
  
‘I know all of this from a book, of course. One I read at the library in my Circle. Which was in Ostwick. And what a respectable, Chantry a honouring Circle it was too! With none of that… nonsense you hear in rumours about Tevinter’.  
  
He gives the guest a smile, which comes off rather too leer-like for anyone’s comfort; but the Ambassador, graceful as always in every sense of the word, saves the day by gliding swiftly towards the table, her feet poised delicately almost en pointe, as those of a dancer at the Orlesian Imperial theatre, and her gilded skirt swollen with the motion like a peony in bloom.  
  
‘Why don’t you take a look at the kitchens we have set up for the refugees, Your Ladyship?’ she coos silkily, levelling the still stiff Herald with a disapproving glance over her shoulder. ‘You will be most pleased to find that the Inquisition has put your funding to good use!’.  
  
After the Ambassador shepherds off the still slightly bewildered noblewoman, the Herald is left one on one with the Seeker. And the latter is more than reading to go further than the Ambassador with the disapproving glances. Or glares. And words as well; words aplenty.  
  
‘I cannot believe how careless you were!’ she begins, circling around the table like a preying falcon until she positions herself directly opposite the Herald, where the guest sat a moment ago (only instead of lowering herself into the noblewoman’s chair, she kicks it aside and looms over the table while standing, her hands clapped flat against the tabletop).  
  
‘How close you came to giving yourself away! You should have listened to Josephine! Should have…’  
  
‘Should have steered her towards cards; I know…’ the Herald sighs, dipping his head. Then, abruptly, he looks up, his eyes clear and hard, and speaks louder, his neck straining and the hand with the pulsing Mark balling into a fist.  
  
‘I know that it will reflect poorly on the Inquisition if… the general public learns that your “Herald of Andraste” is a captured Tevinter cultist. I know why the alias “Gideon Trevelyan of Ostwick” was created. I know, and I understand. But… But while I am not proud of what I… almost became, I am proud of my origins. I am proud of being Tevinter. And hiding who I am… like hiding the sores of a leper… It is too much sometimes’.  
  
The Seeker huffs.  
  
‘If your pride is so sore, perhaps you should have thought of that before joining a cult and using your maleficar rituals to interfere with the Conclave’.  
  
The Herald goes quiet for a few moments; his tensened shoulders sag, and as his gaze travels away from the Seeker’s scornful face, his mouth twitches.  
  
'You are right,’ he mouths at length, sounding as if he has swallowed something sharp-edged. 'I am not… In the best position to spout lectures of Tevinter’s greatness, am I? But perhaps one day… One day you might meet those of my countrymen who will make you see that we are not lepers to be shunned. Like my son… Or my apprentice. The boy always had such bright ideas about reforming the Imperium; and I still owe him an apology’.  
  
The Seeker’s expression softens.  
  
'You are not that awful yourself,’ she says, pulling the discarded chair back up. 'And if it reminds you of home, perhaps another round of this game is called for?’.  
  
'I never figured you to be fond of board games,’ the Herald says, quirking an eyebrow, while his face turns visibly brighter.  
  
'Varric told you how bad I am at Wicked Grace and Diamondback, didn’t he?’ the Seeker asks testily.  
  
'Those are card games, though,’ the Herald remarks. 'They have little to do with this’.  
  
'Little indeed! Just because I am a warrior - and do not dabble in frivolous card games - does not mean I lack the intelligence for this sort of pursuit,’ the Seeker agrees, somewhat overzealously. 'Or strategic planning… Or…’  
  
She coughs.  
  
'Or imagination’.  
  
'Ah, planning and imagination,’ the Herald murmurs as he sets the board anew. 'I know a game that requires both. My wife would play it with her apprentices in the evenings. But we would need far more people. Also, twenty-sided dice’.


End file.
